The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) (10 page)

He was like a ticking time bomb, wanting to get her back to the room and find out.

They made it back to the front end of the fairgrounds, and Jamie spun out in the middle of it, her grin encompassing a world of childlike awe. Dean stepped back to watch her twirl, everything behind her a rainbow of lights and toys and balloons. She tossed him her teddy bear and ran to jump in a leaf pile, then gathered two armfuls of crunchy leaves and sent them flying.

He tucked the stuffed animal under his arm and lifted his camera to catch the moment—Jamie with her face upturned toward the sky, her skin clear and bright, curls wild and hands high above her head as a shower of oranges, reds and browns rained softly down to the ground around her.

She looked like freedom.

That was always her, always what she was to him, while he’d had shackles locked around his wrists since he learned how to shave.

She did it again, and that same hollow yearning he’d been clobbered by at the wedding slammed into his chest. He finally recognized the emotion for what it was, and summed it up into one single word:

Mine.

He wanted her to be his. It was a fierce kind of possession he’d never felt for anyone.

He wanted more than Jamie shivering underneath him, though. He wanted to take the way she made him feel, bottle it and bring it home with him, and never let her go. But Jamie didn’t belong in his world, one filled with long hours and always hunting for the lowest costs. She belonged here, in lazy mornings spent at lakeshore inns, in Saturday afternoons full of color. This weekend was a dream, a step outside reality, a brief glimpse into a future that would never exist for them.

He could never give her the kind of life she deserved.

“I haven’t done this in forever,” she said, running to jump in another pile. “I always hated fall, but here it doesn’t seem so bad.”

Good. It was better that she didn’t notice him watching her. Much better.

He took a longer route driving them back, enjoying the way the road spooled out before them. Traffic slowed at the mouth of the lake, and she asked him to stop when they neared an Italian joint across from the water.

“Let’s get pizza,” she said. “I’ve already destroyed my diet for the weekend with the cotton candy. Why not ruin it entirely?”

“I thought you were on my case about taking off a few pounds,” he said, pulling into a spot on the side of the road.

Her hand was already on the door handle. “I’ll work it off you later.”

The sun had begun inching its way down to the tree line by the time their pie was ready. Dean offered to kick down the flatbed so they could watch the sunset. There was enough room back there, if they sat on the edge. She’d happily agreed, and they ate with their legs dangling over the open gate, looking out at the water.

“You really should keep taking pictures,” Jamie said.

Dean’s stomach tightened. He thought they’d left that conversation behind them. “I don’t have time for it anymore.”

She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful as she munched on her crust, then asked, “What if you could combine photography and the business?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, people with cars like the ones we saw today need parts, right?”

“Usually, yeah.”

“And you know how to find them. If you got the parts and fixed up the cars, you could photograph them after. Maybe make it a part of the business.”

“It’s not that simple.” He didn’t mean to be shutting her down. It was just something he’d thought of before. “Offering custom refurbishment requires cash. And labor. And a place to do it all.” There was enough work to do on the building they were in without having to find another one.

“Couldn’t you start with a few small jobs?” she asked. “There’ve got to be more clients like the one you were shopping for yesterday. Ones who’ve bought classic cars that need fixing. Couldn’t you advertise being available for work like that?”

Dean mulled it over. She had a point. And there were people out there who wanted to buy a classic, but didn’t know how to fix it up. He could hunt down the parts, offer the guys at the shop extra hours to help work on them, and take photos of the finished projects when they were done. Connor could easily add a gallery to the website, and put some of his supernatural tech mojo into it so it reached the search engines.

“Maybe,” he said. “There’s still the problem of space, though.”

She reached up and flicked his forehead. “You live in a warehouse, dumbass. Couldn’t you use some of that space?”

Dean flicked her back on the shoulder, then rubbed the still-stinging spot between his eyes. He
could
use the first floor, if he managed to clean out enough of his father’s crap. Maybe it would be something the old man would go for, if Dean could come up with a plan that cost the least amount of overhead.

Suddenly, the evening felt like an echo of that one back in high school, bright and brimming over with possibilities.

“Dumbass, huh?” He grinned. “Since when did you turn into a life coach?”

“It’s a lot easier to come up with answers for other people’s problems than it is for my own.”

The sarcasm lacing her tone felt heavy. Dean took another bite of pizza and bumped her shoulder with his.

“You gonna talk about it, or what?”

He’d had enough with tiptoeing around the shit that was obviously going down between her and her family. He’d pulled back the dusty cobwebs of his past for her. It was time she threw in her chips too.

She tossed a half-eaten piece of pizza back in the box and wiped off her hands. “I’ve been offered a promotion. Assistant Aquatics Director at the community center.”

“Assistant director? That’s a big step up.”

She snorted. “Oh, yeah. It’s my life’s dream.”

Dean studied her face. She was looking down, fussing with the tassels on her scarf.

“Art was your dream, right?” he asked.

Jamie swallowed. Stared at the water. “Fashion. I wanted to be a fashion designer.”

“Why didn’t you go after it?”

She shrugged, indifferent, her expression muted. “I tried. It didn’t work out.”

Dean suppressed the urge to tug on her hair, to use it to make her talk. He wouldn’t, not after last night. One look at her lust-crazed eyes and there’d be little he could think of other than getting inside her as quickly as possible.

“No clamming up on me, honey,” he said. “I revealed my big secret. Now it’s your turn.”

Jamie rolled her eyes, but the humor felt forced. “It’s no secret. I applied to some art schools and got rejected.”

She leaned back, balancing her weight on her elbows. Dean refused to look at the long, lean line of her body, and focused on her face instead, on the brightness that had suddenly shorted out. It was exactly like when she’d dodged his question years ago, when she told him about the scholarship she wasn’t sure she wanted.

“If it wasn’t a secret, why didn’t you tell me about it back then?”

A tight frown pinched the edges of her mouth. “It was too hard to talk about. Not when my brothers had all gotten into Ivy League schools.”

“I never thought you cared about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I know. Crazy, fun Jamie, right? Why would she care about looking as smart as her brothers?” She offered him a smile, but its brilliance was dampened by her eyes, missing their usual luster.

Jamie looked away but the fissure was still there, the pain she’d covered up with humor and smiles suddenly all too obvious. It made sense now—her bratty, prankster side was nothing more than a defense mechanism. A way to get attention when she’d been eclipsed by her brothers’ accomplishments.

Funny. They were polar opposites, but exactly the same—her family’s success was hanging over her, while he’d been enshrouded by the failure of his.

“You couldn’t get a job somewhere in fashion?” he asked. Christ, she had a college degree. That had to get her somewhere.

“Nah. I’d have to go back to school and major in it. And move to New York if I wanted to get anywhere.” She rubbed her fingers together. “
Ker-ching
,
ker-ching
.”

“Oh, come on. You’re telling me your parents wouldn’t support you?”

Her eyes went even darker. “I’ve lived off their good graces for a while now. I think my welcome is running out.”

She sat up and rubbed her hands over her arms. Dean wasn’t sure if it was because she was cold or needed comforting.

He wasn’t sure if it was his place to offer her solace for either.

“It’s okay,” she said. “The job at the center is good money. It’ll pay me enough so I can finally cover my own bills and move out. And swimming does make me happy.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Her gaze snapped to his. She started to argue, but Dean shook his head.

“That’s not the face of someone who’s happy.”

“Okay. Maybe I’m not
ecstatic
, but I’m content. It’s like your hierarchy says. Be okay with the status quo, and life will be good, right?”

For a minute, Dean hated the theory he’d relied on, not liking it at all when it came to Jamie. When it clenched its jaws around the image he’d always had of her—happy and carefree, never held down by anything.

It was like gravity reversed, to hear she’d become as trapped as he was.

“It would’ve been nice, though,” she added softly. “To work in fashion. It’s transformative, the way one outfit can turn you into something else. Let you
be
someone else.”

Dean’s pulse stalled. He stared at her. “You wish you were someone else?”

Jamie gave him a weak smile. “I wanted to do something meaningful. To have a life that was more than smelling like chlorine and constantly having swimmers’ ear.” She laughed quietly and shrugged. “I wasn’t good enough for it.”

Something inside Dean snapped. He gathered the remains of their dinner into the box and chucked it into a bin on the street, anger pooling like battery acid. She thought it was okay that she’d given up her dream, but it wasn’t
okay
. Not in the slightest. It wasn’t okay that she was disappointed in her life.

That she thought she wasn’t good enough.

He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and drew her gaze up, not caring if it was appropriate. If it broke the boundaries of their weekend rules. She needed to hear this.

“You listen to me,” he said. “Don’t you ever say you’re not good enough for something. That you don’t deserve to have a life that’s amazing and exciting. Don’t even think it. Because if there’s anyone who deserves the most incredible future possible, it’s you.”

Jamie blinked. Her mouth dropped open slightly, brows lifting with surprise and something else he didn’t have the brainpower to put his finger on.

Dean kept going, honesty bubbling up inside him, a hole poked through a dam.

“When I look at you, I see that girl I knew as a kid. Someone who was always smiling, always happy, and has stayed like that, no matter what. You’re like this one single bright fucking spot of sunshine I have in a life that pretty much sucks otherwise, so don’t you dare wish you were anyone else, or think you can’t have what you want. You should have
everything
you want, Jamie. Everything.”

Her eyes brightened and glossed over, brown turned to gold in the waning sunlight

Then she smiled, leaned in close and whispered, “Take me back to the hotel, Dean.”

Chapter Ten

Dean twisted away, boots hitting the concrete before Jamie said another word. He had the gate folded up by the time she’d hopped into the front, and swung himself into the driver’s seat, jamming the key in the ignition. He grabbed her hand when he started to drive, pulled it onto his lap and held it firmly against his thigh. He needed to touch her, something to cut the tension until he got her back to the room.

It apparently wasn’t enough for her. She inched her fingertips down and swept them over his fly.

Dean groaned and clenched his jaw, his eyes on the road. “Don’t do that.”

Jamie laughed softly. She sidled next to him and kissed behind his ear, down his neck, teeth a rough chafe against the sensitive spot at his shoulder she knew so well.

“Fuck.” He shuddered, hips shifting forward. “You’re gonna get us killed, doing that.”

She licked over the spot she’d bitten. “Then drive faster.”

He grunted, hand gripping hers more tightly. He took the camera with him when they reached the hotel lot, too impatient to waste time locking it up in the back. They hurried through the lobby, Dean’s fingers wound tightly around hers. Finally at their room, he dragged the key card from his back pocket and opened the door with one hand. Jamie barely had time to catch her breath before he dropped the camera bag to the floor, shut the door and slammed her up against it.

“Too many clothes,” he snarled. “You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.”

“I like my clothes.”

Snarky words, but she was panting despite them. Dean skimmed the bottom of her sweater up her sides, pushing the fabric over her head.

“I like them too. But I’ll like them better off you.” He yanked off his shirt, tossed it to the ground and growled, “Shoes.”

Jamie complied, eagerly kicking them off. Dean’s brain buzzed as he stepped out of his boots, everything she’d told him about her severed dreams settling into a low hum like a rattling engine in his thoughts. He hoped she’d be able to find a way out of the life she’d let herself get tangled in. That someday she’d get everything she aspired for, and have that exciting life down in New York City.

But not right now.

Right now, she was his.

He gripped her leggings and dragged them down, some kind of caveman, testosterone-filled urge taking over him, wanting to prove she wouldn’t be able to “get him out of her system”. That two nights with him would only make her want him more.

He knew he shouldn’t want that, because he refused to trap her any more than she’d already trapped herself, but
God
, he couldn’t help it.

Dean moved to stand, stopping short when he saw the scrap of fabric at the apex of her thighs: a triangle of sheer white, laced up like a corset and held together with a tiny bow.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

So this was what she’d been hiding from him. Thank fuck he hadn’t known about it, or he would’ve been hard all day. His brain registered that her bra matched too, but he couldn’t draw his eyes away from the mouth-watering sight in front of him.

Curling his hands around her hips, he brought his mouth to her cloth-covered slit. Her skin was smooth and soft beneath it, bare except for a tiny strip of hair.

He kissed her fully, over and over, and she dropped her hands to clutch his hair. Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the way she moved, how she tried to gather more of the sensation, body arching off the wall. Every reaction notched his need to epic proportions, but he held it in check. Making her come wasn’t enough. He wanted to take this glorious girl out of the corner she’d let herself get put in, and make her see herself the way he did.

He slid her panties down her legs, then stood and unclasped her bra. It landed in a pile with the rest of their clothes. He shucked his jeans and boxers, adding them to the mess, then finally kissed her.

Jamie clawed at his back, the pure hunger in her response jacking him up even higher. He palmed her thighs, hitching them up over his waist. She wrapped her legs around him, kissing him frantically as he walked them to the bed.

“How do you want it, Jamie?”

“I don’t care,” she said in between kisses. “Just take me.”

He dug fingers into her backside, reveling in her hiss. “How? Specifically.”

If tonight was going to be his last night with her, he was going to make it memorable.

She panted, cautious, then whispered, “From behind. Hard.”

Fuck.

He eased her down to the floor. “Bend over the bed.”

Jamie turned around, doing as she was told. Dean palmed his dick, unable to resist the urge to stroke at the sight of her ass on display. She looked over her shoulder, glanced at his slowly pumping fist and grinned.

He reached for a condom, quickly rolling it on. Another minute of that and this whole thing would be over before it even started.

Dean nudged her legs apart with his knee, then bent down to kiss the divots above her bottom and mapped her spine with his tongue.

Her hips flexed. “Please.”

He ignored her plea and slipped his hands beneath her to cup her breasts, tweaking lightly at her nipples before sliding down lower. Teasing her flesh, he coaxed her open, thumbs light over her clit.

She whined and pushed back against him. Groaned his name.

He loved how turned on she was, how hungry and restless. That was how he wanted her—this time anyway.

Next time, he’d let her take what she needed.

With one hand on her hip to steady her, he eased inside her slick passage. Dean almost lost it within seconds, going stupid already with the feeling of hot and tight and so fucking good. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself, because he was unraveling too quickly. If he looked at her, took in those fuckhot responses and let them hit home, he’d be a goner.

She whimpered, pressing back against him. The sound helped him find his control. He reopened his eyes and moved slowly, keeping his thrusts deep and even. Jamie cursed in pleasure as he surged and withdrew, surged and withdrew.

He halted before his next plunge, wanting to see what she would do, how frenzied he could make her. She hiked her chin over her shoulder, her gaze tiptoeing backward. When their eyes met, the connection was as sharp and hot if he’d sunk into her again.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “I love it when you look at me like that.”

He’d picked up on it before. The way one glance seemed to hold her still.

“You like being watched?” He thrust forward, an unhurried push that made her mouth drop open and her eyes slam shut. “My little exhibitionist?”

“I do, but…
oh
…not like that.” She bit her lip, eyes opening again. Latching onto his. “I love the way you watch me. How you—
fuck
…how you see me.”

What Jamie truly needed crystallized into focus. It wasn’t just about being held down, about giving up control and letting go. It was that she’d spent a lifetime living in other people’s shadows, and needed to be seen.

Dean slid a palm down her back and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She responded with another deep groan.

“I see you,” he said. “I see what you want. What you crave.”

He did. And he wanted to watch her absorb every last drop of it.

“Harder,” she begged. “Please.”

“You want it harder?”

“Yes.”

Releasing her hair and hip, he leaned over her and whispered, “So do I.”

A shuddered curse was all she had time for before he pushed her down onto the bed and dragged her arms behind her. He pinned her wrists together at the small of her back and secured them with one hand, then snatched her by the hair again, hard enough to lift her whole body. Jamie cried out and arched into the contorted shape he’d twisted her into, taking everything he gave her as he started a punishing rhythm.

It was ridiculously erotic, seeing her let loose like that. Dean’s release bore down on him, his balls tightening, legs going stiff.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Don’t…I’m going to…oh, God.”

She didn’t need to warn him. Her body told him for her, unable to hide it when her orgasm rocked through her. Her voice broke on a wail that lashed out at him, shattering his control and reducing him to an animal.

Lost to any thought other than the need to come, Dean urged her forward, one hand spanning her back as he pressed her firmly against the mattress. Climbing up on the bed behind her, he fucked into her hard and steady, hips pistoning with quick, ruthless moves. Her pussy surrounded him. So good, so deep. He had only seconds to enjoy the way her muffled moans matched his until pleasure shot up his spine. He snapped taut, his body taken hold by an orgasm so hot and intense it felt like whiplash.

Sated, he all but collapsed on top of her. His arms shook when he leaned down to kiss between her shoulder blades, tasting the salt of her sweaty skin.

Dean tossed the condom in the trash. Jamie turned over onto her back, head at the foot of the bed, arms draped over the edge of the mattress. She grinned wide, her arms stretched up above her head, back rolling like a cat. It reminded him of the way she’d sprawled out across the backseat of that car this afternoon.

“Don’t move,” he said.

Slipping his jeans and boxers back on, he retrieved his camera from where he’d left it by the door. Changing the settings to allow for the darkness of the room, he focused in on her. With her legs up in a lazy upside-down V, her knees swaying from side to side and her curls spilling everywhere, she was every bit the tainted angel of his teenage fantasies, the one who’d gone bad and liked it.

She lifted her chin and looked over at him. “What are you doing?”

Trying to capture how beautiful you are.

“What does it look like?” he asked. “Stay like that.”

“These aren’t going to end up on the Internet, are they?”

He scowled from behind the lens. As if he’d ever do that to her. “Of course not.”

He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to imagine what he’d do with the pictures after the weekend was over. He was simply compelled to record the moment. He’d think about the rest later.

She grew bashful when he got too close, giggling from behind lowered lashes.

“We could turn this into your own personal X-rated fashion show,” she said.

“We could.” He concentrated, needing to catch the demure look on her face.

“Yeah?”

“Sure. Go put something on for me.”

Jamie scampered off the bed and knelt by her bag. Dean lounged back on the pillows while she dressed, keeping his eyes off her so he got the full effect when she was done.

“How’s this?”

He glanced up. She’d topped a black bra and panties with a sexy gray-and-black pinstripe jacket. She’d put on a necklace too—a long line of dark beads that spilled over her cleavage and kissed her belly button.

And he was ready for round two. Dean swallowed.

“Where’d you think you’d be wearing that?”

She flashed him a snide grin. “It comes with pants, smartass,” she said. “I didn’t know what was out here. Lifeguards always come prepared.”

“Isn’t that the Boy Scouts?”

“Whatever.” Jamie crawled onto the bed and smiled, a sex kitten on her knees. “You like?”

Like didn’t cover it.

He scooted down until he was lying flat on the bed. “Put your hands behind your head.”

She followed his instructions, bunching her hands in her hair so several soft strands fell around her face. The move lifted her breasts, beads dangling between them. She puckered her lips like a supermodel, but was unable to hold the expression for long before dissolving into laughter.

It was going to make an incredible shot.

“Lose the jacket.”

She drew it off slowly, one sleeve at a time. He kept hitting the shutter button until she’d tossed it to the floor. His dick couldn’t handle the striptease, hard again already and fighting the constraints of his jeans. Dean pushed a palm down to stifle the ache, but it only made everything worse, something he could tell Jamie caught by the way she raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth turned upward.

“I want to take a few pictures too,” she said. “Can I?”

He looked at her for a minute, at the gleam in her eyes.

One night. One night to be whatever she wanted. To give her whatever he could.

He wordlessly handed the camera over.

She bounced back onto her bottom, delighted. “Okay, Trescott. Strip.”

Feeling his own cheeks color, Dean rose up on his knees. He couldn’t look at the camera, surprised by his own embarrassment, especially when he unzipped his fly and his cock made an appearance beneath the cotton.

Jamie made a soft noise of appreciation. Dean looked up to see that she’d trapped her lower lip between her teeth. Her gaze raked over him like heat.

“I think the working out has done you good,” she said with a coy smile. “But then again, I liked the way you were before too. You’re kinda like a giant teddy bear.”

Dean froze. “I am
not
like a teddy bear.”

“Yes, you are. A big, bad sexy one. With tattoos instead of fur.”

He laughed. Jamie smiled from behind the camera and twirled a finger in the air, as if to say
get on with it
.

Enjoying the ego stroke of her attention, he hooked his thumbs into the backs of his jeans and boxers, and pushed everything down, one inch at a time. She took a couple more quick shots, then stopped when he rid himself of his clothes entirely.

The camera forgotten, she put it on the edge of the bed and crawled over to him, but it wasn’t his throbbing dick that she reached for. Her fingers light, she began tracing the ink on his arm.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

He nodded and stayed silent, letting her touch, watching as she took him in. She caressed the sleeve, soft touches to the thorny spines he’d had drawn into his flesh.

“Barbed wire. I guess that’s kind of a warning, huh?” she asked. “A metaphorical ‘do not enter’.”

He chuckled. It was cliché, but true.

Light fingers stroked over his ribs. “Birds flying away. Freedom? Or wishing for it.”

Dean took a breath. She was right on the money.